


Meet The Old Boss

by GrandEclectus



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29411742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrandEclectus/pseuds/GrandEclectus
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are summoned to 'meet their maker' with interesting results. Some angst, bickering, and a willingness to do anything for one another.Ineffable husbands, but written as much as possible by canon. Unrequited mutual adoration.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	1. The Summons

Chapter 1

It struck Aziraphale out of the blue. 

He had been feeling cozy in his bookshop on this quiet winter's day in Soho. He was sipping hot darjeeling tea and enjoying a particularly lovely passage from “Paradise Lost” with his feet up on a thread-bare, upholstered footstool. Then The Feeling crept over him invoking intense goosebumps that pierced deeply into his spirit..

He’d felt something like this only once when he was being questioned regarding the whereabouts of The Flaming Sword. But this was not the same. This was not going to be a fleeting encounter. It was not a request, but a demand to meet The Almighty. 

It was Unmistakable. Unavoidable. Un-ignorable. There it was: The Summons from On High and he knew the order wasn’t just for him alone.

Aziraphale leaped for the phone. He heard the old bell ring for a split second as he grabbed the bake-lite receiver before he could touch the dial. A shaky voice on the line stuttered out a few incoherent, fearful syllables. Clearly Crowley felt it too. He was unable to articulate any intelligible thought. For a demon to receive The Summoning this way could only mean one, horrible, punishing thing.

“Stay where you are!” ordered Aziraphale. “No, no, wait, can you drive here? Are you able?” He was also unable to think clearly. “Yes, that’s it. Come here! We’ll...we’ll figure something out!”

Crowley’s normally confident voice was reduced to a frightened, shaky sputter on the line. 

“There’s nothing to figure out!” Crowley finally rasped. “This is ‘IT’, isn’t it? She finally…” he choked.

Aziraphale couldn’t refute that idea. She, with a capital ‘S’ was calling them to an audience. There was no debate, no clever plot to enact, no way out of it.

One of Aziraphale’s enormous King James Bibles suddenly fell off a shelf and opened to:

_ “It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.”  _

The angel winced and wanted to raise his voice, “As if You have to point that out!”

For a few months, the demon and the angel had been enjoying unemployment together since they helped to avert the Apocalypse. They had vague recollections of The Event. They knew that something terrible almost happened and somehow they helped stop it. Bits of memories of the occurrences would pop in and out of their minds. They did know they were no longer obliged to either Heaven or Hell to manipulate the doings of humans. They were happily retired!

They spent their time together, drinking, and being merry. Crowley enjoyed watching Aziraphale eat. Almost human.

It seemed their happy, quiet lives, of roaming to and fro upon the Earth were about to end. 

All too soon, Aziraphale heard tires screeching as Crowley’s Bentley came to a halt near the bookshop. Always the speed demon. A disheveled black-clad figure slammed through the shop door. He materialized a bottle of Macallan scotch and gulped it without hesitation. 

As frightened as the angel was, the demon was exponentially more terrified.

“Have you ever heard of a demon going to meet Her?” Crowley demanded. 

Aziraphale could only recall one notable incident. “I...I...I’m sure...it can’t be as bad...after all, we DID seem to save the world, I...I think.”

“Exactly! Didn’t She want the Apocalypse like they all do? There’s never enough blood and destruction for them! Never!” Crowley pounded down the rest of liquor, and smashed the bottle on the wooden floor. 

“Damn! I’m...I’m…Sorr...!” An unusual apology for a demon.

Aziraphale erased the mess with a wave of his hand.

“Sit down, dear boy. We need to think!”

“When is this meeting? Do you know?”

“Sit!” Aziraphale ordered. “It’s tomorrow! We have time!”

Crowley sniffed in disbelief. Time! He plopped down on the worn leather couch. He let the familiar feelings comfort him. He had long, happy hours there drinking while Aziraphale read or dusted books.

“It MUST be with the Metatron,” Aziraphale attempted. “We cannot possibly be meeting with...Her!”

Crowley allowed himself a bit of hope, like a man on a slippery cliff, grasping for slimy roots, hoping to save himself from being dashed on jagged rocks and swept away in violent briny surf.

“After all, a direct meeting would simply dissolve our beings. We would be instantly consumed, blown into microparticles, gone and forgotten...” Aziraphale stopped himself. Crowley scowled, got up and summoned more ridiculously expensive alcohol.

“Now, that’s enough of that! You cannot be inebriated for this!”

“What DIFFERENCE does it make?” Crowley blurted running his hand through his pompadour. “This is it! Vengeance! Wrath! Punishment! The end of me to be sure!” 

“Now, let’s not jump to conclusions. There can be any number of outcomes. Perhaps we’ll be…”

“Stop! You KNOW just as well as I do...I’m The Serpent! T.H.E Serpent.”

The demon inhabited the form of a tall, lanky human male but he appeared diminished as he shook with fright and fell back onto the couch.

Aziraphale was somewhat more afraid for his friend than for himself. As an angel, Aziraphale might find himself demoted and reprogrammed. They’d give him a spiritual lobotomy and make him a mindless automaton. The angels use such creatures for minor heavenly errands. He would no longer be able to feel anything, no love, no life, no food, no pleasure, no books, no thought. He wouldn’t recognize Crowley but he wouldn’t be able to care.

He might be cast out altogether, become a demon, but so be it. He knew he had done what was right. His conscience was clear. He wouldn’t change a thing.

Those who merely disagreed with Her were often cast from grace, sullied, punished, and lost for eternity. Hastur, a Duke of Hell and his cruel minions would love to get their slimy talons into a freshly-fallen Aziraphale. The angel shuddered at the thought of that vile bunch delighting in torturing him, or worse, torturing Crowley in while he was forced to look on.

The real risk was to Crowley. He had lost angel status long ago. He was made to serve the underworld with a most disastrous outcome, the Fall of Man. To Crowley, it was just a day’s work at the behest of Hell, a literal slither in a lovely garden. He meant nothing more evil than just ‘cause some trouble’. Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale could foresee the consequences for mankind.

For his part, Aziraphale didn’t know what would be left for himself if his long-time counterpart was destroyed or banished, but he didn’t want to engage in self-pity when his friend’s eternity was on the line.

A sudden snow storm blew in. Within minutes the city streets were blanketed in thick carpet of white. Sounds of the city diminished quickly. Traffic halted, voices were muffled.

The pair sat in silence. Aziraphale miracled a spread of tapas and horderves, a sort of Last Meal, but as usual Crowley only drank, despite the angel’s objections. 

They settled into what would be a sleepless night, Crowley sprawled on the couch and Aziraphale in his easy chair.

TBC...


	2. Nowhere To Run To, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a restless, fearful night at the bookshop, Aziraphale and Crowley journey through the portal.

From somewhere in the shop a vacuum tube radio suddenly blasted an old Martha and the Vandellas Motown hit. 

_ Nowhere to run to, baby _

_ Nowhere to hide _

_ Got nowhere to run to, baby _

_ Nowhere to hide _

Aziraphale waved it off as Crowley woke slowly. 

Time to face the music. 

It was still dark. The candles in the shop burned low.

“Well, since we must go, then at least let’s be presentable!” Aziraphale set about fussing over wrinkles and stains on their apparel. Crowley reluctantly stood up from the couch. He was sullen but submitted to what he saw as a futile effort. Aziraphale seemed so happy tidying their looks.

“Angel.” Crowley started, his voice broke.

“Just a few ticks! Almost done!” 

He was so damn...cheerful!

“Just...stop...fussing...it’s OK. I need to say something.”

Aziraphale was focusing on polishing Crowley’s snake-skin boots with a wave of his fingers and cleaning the dark glasses which he placed back on Crowley’s face.

“I...I need to say ‘thank you’,” Crowley blurted.

“Don’t mention it! Happy to do it.” Aziraphale was enjoying the momentary distraction, brushing Crowley’s suit, playing valet. “Cleanliness is next to…”

“Godliness?” Crowley scoffed, completing his friend’s sentence as they often did with one another.

“Well, yes. I…”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Crowley struggled, “I meant, thank you...for everything.”

“Oh. Oh, yes, I see.” Aziraphale took a deep breath and snapped back to reality. The angel took a moment. 

“Same,” he replied curtly. “I regret... I’m very sorry for, well, for putting you off.”

Crowley was puzzled.

“I was misguided,” the angel continued. “I believed heaven held the answers, the moral upper hand. I thought I was better than you. I was a fool. We could have roamed the stars together!” he added dreamily.

Crowley’s face belied his surprise, he was rendered speechless. 

“I must believe, no matter what happens today…” Aziraphale ventured, attempting his usual optimism.

“That this won’t be The End for us?” Crowley shot back bitterly. “That’s just lovely!”

“Let’s not bicker, please! Not now! Not today.”

Crowley conceded silently. He felt the time was near as their thoughts raced and merged.

“We could…”

“No, but there’s always…”

“That won’t work, but we should…”

“Already tried that, but…”

They stood face to face, and accepted the inevitable.

“How are we getting there? Elevator service? A flight of eagles? Instant zapping?” Crowley checked his Devon timepiece. It was well past sunrise. They both finally realized the windows were blocked by snow. The storm had raged through the night, burying the shop.

Aziraphale opened the front door only to be met with a wall of snow. He tried to remove it with his powers, but it didn’t respond to his attempts. 

“Here,” Crowley offered, but his efforts to remove the snow also met with no change at all.

Aziraphale closed the door, careful to keep the snow from falling into the shop. 

Reluctantly he went to the center of the room and moved a book display out of the way. He slowly tugged back the threadbare area rug revealing a chalked circle he used to contact The Almighty. 

“Wha…? Cabala? How long have you had THAT?” Crowley demanded in disbelief. 

“Are you ready?” Aziraphale asked dispassionately.

“‘Course I’m not ready!”

“Good. Now, stand back!”

The angel set about the task of lighting candles he had placed around the circle as Crowley fought back anger.

“So, all this time, you had a way to talk to Upper Management, a direct line to Her, and you didn’t bother to mention it!”

“I didn’t think it was important,” Aziraphale informed him. “And, I am not in the habit of confiding in demons,” he stated officiously.

Crowley looked as if he’d been slapped. If he could, he’d run away from all of this and never come back. 

“I’m. Not. Hastur!” Crowley hissed. “Nor am I Belezubub, Dagon, or Ligur!”

“It’s not a direct line.” Aziraphale explained calmly. “At least, it wasn’t.”

“Six thousand years. That’s how long you’ve known me! How many demon friends do you have that you’re ‘not in the habit of confiding in’? I’m nothing to you?”

“What are you on about?” Aziraphale’s mind was elsewhere. He’d completed setting up the seven candles and was ready to open the portal.

“You know what? I’m glad this is my last day of existence!” Crowley said emphatically. “Angels have no hearts!”

Aziraphale ignored his friend and began to pray in an angelic tongue that Crowley had long ago forgotten.

“You JUST got finished apologizing to me for this very thing!”

“Dear boy!” Aziraphale interrupted his invocation. “If we are to stand a...well...a snowball’s chance today, you MUST let me handle things! And stop drinking!” Aziraphale smashed a newly materialized bottle of Macallen from Crowley’s hand.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley pleaded as his knees buckled. “End me! End me now! Holy Water! Sword! Magic! Whatever it takes! I can’t...I can’t…”

Aziraphale steeled himself. He drew on every bit of strength he had ever possessed. Like a father he grabbed the sobbing demon by the elbow and pulled him up. He brushed back Crowley’s disheveled hair.

“Look, you’ve mussed yourself up again.” the angel said softly, flicking hair from Crowley’s eyes. 

He resumed his incantations with the demon pulled in next to him. Aziraphale added another incantation that would protect their corporal forms. No discorporation this time.

“You really think we’ll need our bodies after today?” 

“Yes! Yes, I do!”

“Fine! Let’s get this over with!” Crowley spouted with feigned bravado.


	3. Between The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley travel through the portal and meet the Creator.  
> Aziraphale has an unusual request for The Almighty. She has a few things to share with Crowley. Soundtrack: "Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea" by Ella Fitzgerald & "Again" by The Universals.

A column of light pierced the bookshop like a flaming sword. Pinpoint particles of light ignited, glistened, and floated through it like fireflies. The portal was open. The angel and demon, arm in arm, felt themselves pulled into the heavenly light and catapulted into whatever was to happen next.

The pair found themselves walking down a bright corridor. Their wings had unfurled on their journey, a nice sensation they couldn’t take the time to enjoy. A door appeared.

“This is ridiculous!” Crowley shouted. “C’mon, O High One, just, get this over with!”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was mortified. “You can NOT speak to The Almighty THAT way!”

“Why not? As you reminded me, I’m just another lowly demon to you!” Crowley said bitterly as he barged through the door.

“I didn’t SAY that!” Aziraphale with a whimper. “You’re putting words in my mouth!” 

But there was no Almighty to speak to. They had burst into a crowded club. Sounds of jazz music, clinking glasses, and natter filled the air. The sequin-clad singer belted out a classic.

_“I don’t want you, but I’d hate to lose you,_

_You’ve got me in between, the devil and the deep blue sea…”_

“What IS this?” Crowley demanded.

“I’m not sure,” the angel said with candor. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

_“I forgive you, ‘cause I can’t forget you…”_

“She’s toying with us! Her cruelty knows no bounds.”

“Let’s not leap to conclusions! Her myst…”

“Don’t you dare say ‘mysterious ways’!” Crowley said with an accusatory finger poking toward Aziraphale.

_"I should hate you, but I guess I love you…_

_skee bop um bop da da, skoo boopy bah dah da day!"_

The singer’s angel wings unfurled. “Welcome! She’ll be with you shortly! In the meantime, have a drink! Enjoy the music. Relax!”

The pair stood slack jawed. They were surrounded by angels and demons, all drinking and socializing. 

“I don’t need to be asked twice!” Crowley declared as he bellied up to the bar. Two colorful fru-fru drinks were waiting for them. Crowley tossed the decorations aside and downed the beverage without hesitation. Aziraphale sipped his, careful to not disturb the umbrella and fruit garnish.

“Another!” the demon demanded but he the bartender told them to leave..

_"I ought to cross you off my list._

_But when you come knocking at my door…"_

As they began to walk, the room dissolved around them. The dirty wooden floor gave way to a soft bed of moss. 

They were standing in a beautiful forest. In a clearing there was a table and at its head, an elder woman. 

“Hello, my darlings! Welcome, welcome!” 

The pair stood frozen. Was this HER?

She was draped in flowing diaphanous robes. Iridescent flower images floated between the folds, and sparkles of rainbow colors radiated from her form.

“Oh...Oh, sorry...Um FEAR NOT for I Am...well, The Great I Am... you know the rest.”

The pair remained in stunned silence.

“Tea is ready! _____________, my sweet, you must really try to eat some food! You’ll enjoy it! And I’m the cook!” she giggled and brushed Her hand lightly on Crowley’s cheek.

Aziraphale stared at her, his wings spread in shock. She had spoken Crowley’s angel name! 

Crowley stopped breathing, for that matter, moving, thinking. He hadn’t heard his name in over 6000 earth years. It was from another reality, before he found himself in a lake of fire. His wings tightened with alarm.

Aziraphale struggled to remember where he’d heard that name. Who was Crowley before The Fall? The name sounded familiar. Did he know him? He smiled. “You must have been an adorable angel!” he chirped.

Tears welled in the demon’s snake eyes which were poorly hidden behind dark lenses. The emotions of the last 24 hours rushed in. The fear of his fate, his anger with Aziraphale, his confusion at this highly unusual Summoning all rendered him helpless.

Aziraphale collected himself. “Forgive me, Oh Great One! We are so grateful to have been summoned to be in your presence! This is a great honor!”

“You’re welcome, Aziraphale! Oh, by the way, I’m in this form so you won’t explode. Do you like it? I call it ‘Welcoming Earth Mother’”.

“It’s pure perfection, Ma’am!” Aziraphale beamed.

Aziraphale took a moment and steeled himself. There was something he had to get off his chest. He prayed, no, he pleaded.

“I have but one request, Oh Highest. Please don’t take the demon...please don't take Crowley away from me. If you’re going to send him back to perdition, then send me there too! If you’re going to destroy him, then end me as well. Whatever punishment, pain, agony, or destruction, please, let it happen to us both. I can’t bear…” he choked up.

Crowley couldn’t process what he was hearing. His angel confused him. Not that he wouldn’t welcome Aziraphale’s company in a fiery corner of a torture chamber, would he?

“Dear, what are you talking about?” The Hostess-Deity asked. “We’re having tea! I want us to get to know one another.”

“Did I just hear you correctly?” Crowley asked in disbelief. “You want to BE with me, no matter what, for all eternity? Now THAT would be Hell!”

Aziraphale was stunned.

“You REALLY are a piece of work, angel! Dear Lor...Lady, I beg you, PLEASE, let me be ANYWHERE but with HIM!”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale felt embarrassed.

“You really have to try this brie. Best in the universe.” said their Heavenly Hostess blithely. “Well, are you two going to keep standing there? Come and sit down! We’ll talk!”

“Why are you TOYING with us?” Crowley demanded.

“CROWLEY!” Aziraphale scolded.

“Ever since this all began, ever since you set up the universe, you have used us all for playthings! Well, I’m done playing!” Crowley said with disgust.

Aziraphale was mortified! 

“Crowley! You don’t mean it!” he pleaded, standing between Crowley and Her. “He doesn’t mean it!” he cried. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying!”

“Get out of my way, angel!” Crowley shot.

Aziraphale slowly closed his eyes. “I meant what I said!”

“What are you on about?” Crowley sneered.

“I’ll take whatever punishment You give to him. And I mean it!”

“Gentlemen! I will NOT ask again! Sit down!” The sky started to change. Clouds began to sweep in and darken the glen.

“Yes, so sorry! Yes! Crowley, PLEASE…We must NOT disobey.” Aziraphale was beside himself with fear. The idea of losing Crowley forever, perhaps being cast out himself was too terrible to think about.

“I’m leaving! That’s it! Smite me if you will! Smite away!”

“Dear, where will you go?” She asked, clearing the sky and softening.

“You’ve both made so many foolish assumptions about what this is all about. I’m not doing any smiting today, _____________. See? Smite free!”

“CROWLEY! I’m Crowley now! You saw to that!”

Without realizing, the pair were seated at the table with the lavish spread.

“Open up!” She told Crowley, as if she were speaking to a child.

Crowley reluctantly opened his mouth as She fed him a bit of smoked salmon from a silver fork. The sensation of his first bite of food in his existence hit him as if he’d swallowed a galleon of alcohol in an instant. For a few moments, he was subdued, enraptured by his new experience.

Aziraphale was breathing deeply, looking down and formulating his thoughts.

“Oh, Dear Lady, Creator of All…”

She waved off his addresses.

“Please, spare him!” Aziraphale pleaded. “Please show him mercy!” 

“Why?” She asked bluntly.

The angel was caught up short, his wings sagged, but he finally said, “Because he’s a good person! He hates it when I say so, but at heart…”

“How has his behavior today reflected that assertion?” she asked.

“I...I…” Aziraphale knew there was no defense. 

“Today Crowley has been belligerent, thoughtless, arrogant, angry, defiant. Did I miss any adjectives?”

“I’ve known him for 6000 years! I’ve seen many instances of…”

“Only 6000, dear? I‘ve known him much longer. Since I created him!

“You know, I’m considering what to do to him. I’m thinking I'll send him down to the 10th Circle…”

“There’s a 10th Circ...?” Aziraphale interrupted, but Her glare stopped him short.

“I’m thinking the usual to start: boiling oil, lashes with rusty barbed wire, pestilence, lava, dismemberment, maybe an itch that can’t be scratched.

“Do you still want to go with him?”  
  
Aziraphale took a breath and with determination stated, “Yes! I don’t want him to be alone…”

“And YOU don’t want to be without him!”

“Be that as it may, I can’t…” Emotion overwhelmed him. 

“She’s joking,” Crowley interjected. “Well HER idea of a joke. At our expense, of course. She holds all the cards, and enjoys our fears. She LOVES your effusive obeisance, and she LOVES my defiance.”

“Have some more salmon, Crowley.” She offered. “It’s non-GMO and humanely sourced.”

“I’ve had quite enough...of everything!”

“Crowley! Please!” a horrified Aziraphale begged.

“No, you’re right. I’ll eat! Food is one of the few great pleasures mankind has that makes their futile, finite, trifling existence bearable. But, don’t eat too much! That’s gluttony! Don’t drink too much! That’s alcoholism!”

She dissolved her form and reappeared next to Crowley.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” She said with quiet strength looking right into his snake eyes.

“What?”

“Loving someone, longing for someone so much, but they just don’t get it! Makes your soul ache!”

“I…I have no idea what you’re on about!”

“You see that special person all the time, they’re right within your reach, but so far away.”

“Stop it!” Crowley demanded.

“It’s punishing, don’t you think? To be condemned to that razors’ edge. You reach. They run. They accuse. It's a heartbreak!”

“You know how to cut, don’t you?” 

“And you don’t?” She shot.

She reappeared back at Her place, Her veneer of the motherly hostess back and firmly in place.

“Now, you two, I’ve brought you here for a lovely tea. Please, gentlemen...partake!”

Aziraphale obediently enjoyed the wonderful repast, pretending to be oblivious to what just transpired between Crowley and Her. 

Crowley finally acquiesced. He found the experience of eating distracting, the sensations overwhelming his other emotions. 

The heavenly offering put The Ritz’s world class services to shame, naturally. All their fears melted away, and in a haze they found themselves back in Aziraphale’s bookshop.

It made as much sense as anything else that had happened to them. 

The snow was completely gone. It had only been an illusion.

The old radio fired up again. The heavenly voice of Ella Fitzgerald filled the bookshop.

_“You’ve got me in between...The devil and the deep blue sea.”_

The pair sat on the worn leather couch, dazed and confused.

“What just happened, angel? Did we just have tea with Her?”

“I’m not quite sure.” Aziraphale stated, mindlessly brushing off his suit. “Do you want anything?”

A loaded question.

“No, I just want to sit here for a few decades and gather dust.”

“That sounds like a fine option,” Aziraphale sighed. 

“I’m so glad the snow is gone.” Crowley stated, escaping to small talk. “Never a big fan of the cold.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale agreed and after a moment ventured, “I...I...ah...have a sort of circle thingy. On the floor, here in the bookshop.”

Crowley chuckled. 

“It’s a Cabala-based symbol that I use to contact the Almighty.”

“Oh yeah, I think I heard somethin’ ‘bout that.” Crowley said, the circle in clear view.

“Old habits die hard, Crowley,” Aziraphale said apologetically. “I never meant to…hurt you.”

“Well...I forgive you,” Crowley smirked. “What other secrets are you keeping from me?” Crowley challenged with a wry look.

“Ah, if I told you, then they wouldn’t be secrets.” the angel said with a glint in his eye.

“I wouldn’t mind a cuppa.”

“Really? Oh! That’s wonderful!” the angel said with delight. “You! drinking tea!” 

Aziraphale miracled a silver tray with hot tea and biscuits on a small table now in front of the couch. Crowley took a sip while Aziraphale watched. It was warm and comforting. He wondered why he’d put it off for so long. The angel was effusively enjoying Crowley’s new-found experience. It was something else they could share.

“Don’t make such a fuss!” Crowley insisted. “Did you notice anything while we were with Her?” 

Aziraphale looked puzzled. There was an avalanche of things to notice.

“Our wings.” Crowley stated.

“Our wings!” It dawned on Aziraphale.

Aziraphale stood up abruptly, nearly upsetting the tea set. Crowley followed and blocked the windows quickly, since Aziraphale immediately unfurled his wings without a thought about prying mortal eyes. Crowley followed suit. 

One of Aziaraphale’s flight feathers was now black and one of Crowley’s was white.

“What do you think it means?”

“We’re neither sinners nor saints.” Crowley conjectured with a shrug.

“About the…you know...the eternity in hell together thing.” Crowley ventured.

Embarrassment washed over Aziraphale.

“I didn’t know what to do! I panicked! It’s all I could think of!”

Crowley grinned wryly at the angel’s discomfort. 

Like it or not, planned or not, by nature or not, the two belonged to one another. Maybe it was part of some unfathomable plan from on high. Maybe it just was..in...in...inevitable.

They hid their wings and Crowley opened the door.

“C’mon. Let’s go for a walk.” 

The antique radio was still playing. 

_“We’ll have this moment forever, but never, never, again.”_

“That old chestnut was called “Again” by The Universals. Originally performed by Ida Lupino…”

The announcer's words faded into the air and the unlikely pair burst out of the shop and enjoyed their new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I haven't written fanfic in years, and it's good to be inspired again! <3
> 
> PS...I'm looking for the video where Michael Sheen says that he expects that Crowley and Aziraphale will "end up in each others' arms". I KNOW I heard him right! Brilliant actor! So glad he played Aziraphale!

**Author's Note:**

> I had no idea how the characters would respond, but they definitely took on a life of their own! I just wrote it down. Hope you enjoy it! It was a lot of fun to write.


End file.
